


Senescence

by Katyaton



Category: Black Mirror, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Technology, but not really, if you've seen San Junipero you know what i mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katyaton/pseuds/Katyaton
Summary: Life hadn’t been fair to either Viktor or Yuuri - A chance accident after the Sochi Grand Prix was all it took to irrevocably change both of their lives for good.However, when an innovative technology emerges that promises life after death, it seems they may have the chance to make everything right, despite the distance and years that have kept them apart.





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Black Mirror - San Junipero AU. It is not necessary to have seen the show to read this fic, but I highly reccommmed checking it out. If you have seen it, you will notice I had to take a few liberties with the details of the technology, as the show doesn't expand upon it much.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Reborn.

That was how Viktor felt as he trailed behind the effervescence that was Yuuri Katsuki. He realized a bit more with every bend and swoop, with every electric smile they shared across the dance floor. It came slowly, trickling through his mind like molasses, but when it came, it came all at once.

He hadn’t been living for the longest time.

This man, though - this beautiful, vibrant, dynamic man. He had unknowingly given Viktor one of the most precious of gifts that fateful night.

He had given him life.

What he didn’t know, and wouldn’t know for years to come, was that Yuuri wasn’t done giving.

No.

There was no way he could know that, across worlds and time, Yuuri would also give him something as equally as precious, as equally as hallowed.

It was love – in its purest and most authentic form.

But that wouldn’t be until years down the road. All Viktor had now was this night, those memories, and the fateful events that happened after, irreversibly altering his world like the very man who captured his heart.

 

***

 

Viktor stared blankly at his television, not quite comprehending everything in its entirety. The words of the reporters buzzed and rattled in his mind like a bees’ nest, growing and increasing in agitation as his hands trembled in shock.

He …  didn’t understand.

Or at least, a part of him refused to understand.

What were they saying? How could this have happened? Viktor had been with him the whole night, there was no way that –

A series of rapid knocks struck against the hotel door. He startled, woodenly turning his head away from the television.

“Vitya! Open up!”

Viktor blinked. What could Yakov be doing here? He glanced at the clock … They didn’t need to be at the airport until another five hours.

The banging and shouts increased in magnitude as Viktor slowly made his way over to the door. Once he opened it, Yakov tumbled in, shout cutting off abruptly. He huffed as he righted himself.

“Vitya!” he exclaimed, expression wild. His eyes roved over Viktor’s face as he assessed him. “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls? We all thought the worst when no one could find you or Katsuki.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. When he woke up this morning the first thing he had noticed was the news piece on the television. He hadn’t checked his phone after that, too caught up in the damning words spilling from the screen.

“Calls?”

Yakov sighed shakily. “Yes, Vitya. Calls. When we heard about Katsuki and you remained missing, what did you expect?”

Viktor took a step forward and clasped Yakov by his shoulders.

“Yakov …” he began, voice tight. “Wh – what they’re saying … is it – ” he stuttered. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“It can’t be true. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Yakov’s face, normally so stoic and composed, crumpled as he gazed at Viktor. All the energy that normally filled the man seemed to deflate out of him.

“Yes.” He gruffed. “Yes, it’s true.”          

Viktor gasped. He closed his eyes, vehemently trying to deny to words ringing in his head. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, slipping out and trailing down his cheeks.

Yakov pulled him into a rough hug.

“I’m so sorry, Vitya.”

Viktor released a muffled sob.

He was twenty-seven.

And he had just met the love of his life.

But the love of his life, Yuuri Katsuki … Well, he was in a coma, according to all the news outlets - hit by a car on his way home after the banquet. The doctors weren’t sure if he’d ever wake up, though, and even if he did, they speculated that the brain damage could be severe.

At this point, Yuuri Katsuki may as well be dead.

 

***

 

The familiar rattling of the air system and _shick_ of metal against ice did little to calm Viktor’s racing thoughts. It had been one month since the accident.

A month of guilt.

Pain.

Sorrow.

He was alone in the rink now, skating mindless laps around its circumference as he tried to find some peace within his raging thoughts. Viktor had been off his game recently, and unsurprisingly, Yakov had noticed.

He had given Viktor a few weeks to bounce back, but with World’s rapidly approaching, the coach started growing desperate. He had tried everything to snap Viktor out of his haze; rage, sympathy, even silence. The current tactic involved giving Viktor free time to work through his thoughts. In what appeared to be great trepidation, he had relinquished his copy of the rink keys to Viktor, giving him permission to practice on his own time away from the distractions of the other skaters.

Viktor appreciated his effort, he really did, but it was just no use.

Yuuri Katsuki had captured his heart that night, decisively jerking him out of the fog that had been clouding his mind for so long. Viktor had never encountered anyone so vivaciously full of life and spontaneity, so charming and lovely.

And besides all that, it didn’t hurt that Yuuri was ridiculously hot.

Viktor’s heart ached as those memories flitted across his thoughts; Yuuri’s shining eyes, the absolute lightness he felt that night, and of course, Yuuri drunkenly grinding up against him – that had been a good way to end the night.

Viktor sighed; these memories in no way compared to the real thing.

_He wanted to visit Yuuri so badly._

He had tried everything he could, contacting any of the skaters who knew him well, even Yuuri’s coach. It was strange, though. Everything about Yuuri’s condition, other than the occasional news update, was kept completely under wraps. No one who Viktor had questioned knew where he was.

That was probably the most painful thing about all of this. Viktor couldn’t even visit him to apologize.

Viktor bit his lip as the creeping sensation of guilt washed over him.

If he had only walked Yuuri back to his hotel room … If he had only not taken his eyes off him for one second …

If … If …  If …

Viktor shuddered, body shivering for an entirely different reason other than the chill of the rink.

As far as Viktor was concerned, the events of that fateful night were on his shoulders. There was no way he could ever make it up to him.

Viktor stared solemnly at the ice. His distorted reflection peered back at him; weary, tired and so, so guilty. After gazing at himself for a few moments, his expression began to clear as a sudden idea came to him.

The ice was the only way he really knew how to express himself. It wouldn’t make up for what happened – not by any means – but at the very least it might give Yuuri something to cling to when he awoke.

Viktor clenched his fists, guilt lessening slightly as he decided right then and there to go through with it.

Viktor was twenty-eight years old.

The love of his life was still in a coma.

And Viktor would scrape his old routine and create a new one, dedicated solely to Yuuri Katsuki and the night they shared.

His theme?

_The Infinite._

 

 

***

 

 _The Infinite_ was a roaring success, earning Viktor world records and gold medals in the following year of its run. Yakov had protested initially, claiming that it was way too close to World’s to even think about crafting a new routine, let alone an entire theme. 

Viktor had laughed him off with a careless ease.

He was Viktor Nikiforov, after all. There was no way it wouldn’t be successful.

And what a success it was.

The skating community had been tilted on its axis at its debut. No one had ever seen such expression, such emotion in Viktor’s routines, resulting in presentation scores that Viktor had never dreamed that he could achieve. Combining that with his technical scores …

Well, let’s just say that Viktor could flub a few jumps here and there and no one would even be close to matching him, not even young Yuri Plistetsky.

Still, even with all the success and accolades that came with it, it just wasn’t enough; it did little to fill that gnawing hole in Viktor’s chest.

Very little news had been released about Yuuri’s condition in the past few months, though there was one detail that Viktor held on to desperately.

According to all the news sources, Yuuri had awoken from his coma.

How bad the brain damage was, or whether he was even responsive, hadn’t been said, but Viktor was hopeful – the kind of foolish, wholehearted hopefulness that only came with youth and inexperience.

He should have known better back then.

He had been so young, so naïve, so helplessly and irrevocably in love …

Viktor was almost twenty-eight years old.

Yuuri Katsuki had awoken from his coma.

And this was his last season of competitive skating.

 

***

 

Viktor narrowed his eyes as Yuri landed the quadruple flip. The execution was just shy of perfection; if he could just tighten up his free leg a bit before the jump, then there would be absolutely no room for deductions at all.

The pang of longing that once struck him whenever others surpassed his achievements had dulled into acceptance after ten long years off the ice.

His own signature move, the quadruple flip, was now rather common place among the competitors, expected even. All the things that marked him above others had slowly dissipated as the competition inevitably caught up.

But at least he had coaching now.

“Yuri! Your free leg was too loose before that last jump,” Viktor called across the rink. “Try it again.”

Yuri, so much taller and broader than he had been as a teen, huffed and nodded as he began to set up the jump again. Viktor tracked his progression, and as Yuri jumped, he couldn’t help the unconscious twitch of his muscles that remembered the technical aspects of the jump just as much as he mind recalled the theoretical.

Yuri touched down with a light grace despite the monstrous effort it took to land the jump. He turned around and raised his eyebrows at Viktor, a smug smile set firmly in place; he knew as well as Viktor did when he nailed something.

Viktor smiled widely, throwing his arms up in the air. “Yuri! Amazing!”

He couldn’t help his excitement when his students succeeded, and Yuri, well … he was his pride and joy, despite their rather complicated relationship. When Yuri thrived, Viktor thrived.

That was what being a coach was all about, after all.

Yuri pumped his fist into the air. “That’s what I’m talking about! Guang Hong and Leo don’t know what’s coming for them!”

Viktor smiled as he skated over to the rink’s edge. It was the last practice they’d have before flying out for the Grand Prix final. He figured Yuri deserved a bit of a break before the flight tomorrow.

He clasped his hands in front of him, the soft leather of the gloves muting the sound. “Very good Yuri, very good. If you skate like this you’ll have your fifth gold medal for sure.”

Yuri preened under the praise. “And then I’ll just be one step closer to finally surpassing you, old man.”

Viktor was used to the nickname by now, but despite that it still grated at him a little. He smile turned tight as he regarded Yuri through tight lips.

“Don’t get too confident Yuri. If you underestimate the competition like you did back in ’17 … ”

Yuri’s smile fell. He huffed as he pushed off the wall.

“God, don’t remind me ok? Georgi never lets me live that down. I swear he wore that gold medal around for a month after the Rostelecom cup.”

Viktor smile turned more genuine now. “Keep that in mind, then.” He tapped the edge of the rink barrier in dismissal. “Ah, I think we’re done for today, Yuri. Don’t want to overwork you right before the competition, no?”

Yuri glanced at him as he did lazy figure eights. “You’re picking me up tomorrow at 8 for the flight, right?”

“Just like we planned. And don’t forget to run through your checklist for all the essentials, too.”

Yuri nodded, turning around as he began warming down.

“I’ve been doing this for years, Viktor. I’m not going to forget anything.”

Viktor smiled and began gathering up his things.

“Well if you’re sure.”

 

*

 

As it turned out, Viktor didn’t need to worry about Yuri at all. He remembered everything down to the last detail.

Viktor on the other hand …

Yuri seethed at him from the other side of border control. “I can’t believe you fucking forgot your passport. How the _hell_ did you manage to forget something like that?”

Viktor flinched, desperately patting and checking every available pocket on his person.

 _Really, though._ How could he forget something like this? Viktor always placed it by his phone and wallet the night before travel. It was such an ingrained habit at this point.

Why did it slip his mind this time?

The border control agent gave him a weary look, eyes flickering to the growing line as it stretched out behind him. Viktor met his eyes hesitatingly.

“Look, you know who I am right? Viktor Nikiforov, figure skating living legend, hero of Russia …”

Yuri rolled his eyes as Viktor sidled up to the agent. Viktor ignored him.

“I booked online and put in all my passport information there too.” He tried out his best smile on the agent, even fluttering his eyelashes a bit for effect. “Surely you could make an exception.”

The agent’s expression turned withering. He gave him a tight smile. “I’m sorry sir but I can’t make any exceptions. I can direct you to customer services, though. They’ll be able to book you on the next flight to Geneva.”

Viktor swore under his breath. “But you don’t think that-”

“I’m sorry sir, but that’s the best I can do,” he replied flatly. He turned away from Viktor and called for the next customer, clearly in dismissal. Viktor shuffled to the side, mouth agape. He stared at Yuri across the barrier, whose face was rapidly souring.

“Goddammit, Viktor. I can’t believe you let this happen.”

A hot flush of shame traveled through him. He began babbling.

“I’m so sorry, Yuri. I don’t know why that happened I -”

“Save it,” Yuri huffed. “Just – just go to customer services and get the earliest flight possible. I don’t care if it takes five layovers. Just be there by the short program.”

“I … yes, okay,” Viktor replied, feeling very much like a student being berated rather than the coach in this situation.

Yuri closed his eyes and shook his head, already turning around to find his gate. Viktor watched him go, a rather melancholy and horrible feeling sweeping through him. He hadn’t always had the best memory, but lately little things were starting to add up. It wasn’t too much of a problem, really, especially with all the emerging technology that developed to help him set reminders, but it was a bit worrisome.

He shook off his thoughts. He didn’t have time to think about this right now, not when Yuri was flying by himself to Geneva without even his coach to help him …

It took Viktor several hours and lots of wheedling, but he eventually managed to secure a spot on a few flights that would eventually get him to Geneva. It would be a tight squeeze to make it before the short program started, but he would make it.

After a few stressful hours, Viktor finally made his way home and collapsed on his couch. Yuri was probably half way there by now, and here he was - the coach of arguably the best men’s single skater in the world - stuck at home and completely useless.

He groaned and grabbed the remote, hoping to distract himself with some mindless television. After flicking through the channels and not finding anything of interest, he eventually settled on a new age scientific program. These had been popping up more and more as of late. In the last ten years or so, there had been a huge technological boom. So many things had been coming out recently that Viktor was beginning to lose track.

He blinked as the announcer started talking about a technological innovation in the works – one that they claimed was looking into life after death.

He sat up in his chair and turned up the volume.

A respectable looking woman in a crisp lab coat sat with her hands clasped on a desk. The host leaned forward, excitement clearly evident in his eyes.

“So what can you tell us about this new tech from _TCKR systems_? How does it work?”

The woman smiled and cleared her throat. “What do you think about life beyond death, Mr. Litvin?”

The host faltered, smile slipping from his face. “I … well, I suppose I’d like to think there is _something_ -”

“But you can’t know for sure, right?”

The host stopped speaking and scrunched his eyebrows. The woman lifted her head as a smile stretched across her face.

“You see, that’s what _TCKR systems_ is trying to mitigate – the uncertainty of life after death.”

Viktor’s interest was completely piqued at this point. He had never considered himself a religious man; it just wasn’t something he spent much time considering.

But this - even if it was just a scam – _this_ was interesting.

The woman continued speaking. “We’ve been developing a technology that harnesses your consciousness, so to speak, by tapping into your neurons and extracting it through electrical surges. We can then take this captured consciousness and transfer it to our generated computerized world.”

The host had recovered at this point and was watching the woman with wide-eyed interest.

“How long until this technology is available to the public?” he asked.

“Well, we’re still doing tests on animal subjects, and we have a lot more to do to perfect the artificial world, but with proper funding and luck, I’d say this system will be ready in about eight years – ten tops.”

Ten years.

If what she was saying was true, there could be a solution to death in just ten years …

Viktor hadn’t thought much about death. He knew it was something that was coming, but it was one of those things that existed in the back of his mind, briefly considered and dismissed as soon as it came up.

Viktor wasn’t exactly old, as much as Yuri liked to claim, but as each year passed and a new joint became creaky with overuse or he added another skating trick to the list of moves he could no longer preform, he couldn’t really deny the progression of time.

He eyed the passport that now rested inside the front pocket of his bag. As soon as he came home, he had snatched it and stowed it safely in his bag. No need to have a repeat of last time.

Ten years …

He wondered how much more he’d forget at that age.

But if what the woman was saying was true, he could have his own idyllic world at some point, a place where he wouldn’t forget silly things like passports.

Viktor’s mind began swirling with half formed thoughts and possibilities, buried thoughts and sentiments rising to the surface. Viktor could picture it now: he’d have his own skating rink, of course, and he’d be back in the body he had in his twenties. His hair would be full and his body strong. And he’d have a lover there too – a soulmate that he never had the chance to meet in this current life. He pictured a man skating with him: dark haired, slim yet muscled, with large eyes and a sparkling smile.

Viktor’s internal image began to fade as he realized with a sudden clarity who he was picturing.

Yuuri had ruined him for all others.

Maybe that was why he had never seriously gotten with anyone else after that banquet night.

 _It always came back to him_.

His phone pinged with a message. He jerked as the last lingering images of his daydream faded, Yuuri’s smile lingering in his memories like a soft caress.

He grabbed his phone and checked the message. It was from Yuri - He had made it to Geneva and was currently traveling to the hotel. Viktor shook his head as the day’s earlier events came back to him with a vengeance. There was no use thinking about these farfetched fantasies when he had work to do.

Besides, it was probably just a scam, some sort of pseudo-science that they featured for ratings. He turned off the television abruptly.

Viktor was getting older by the day.

Yuuri remained as elusive as ever.

And life marched on with a ceaseless finality. 

 

***

 

It turned out that ten years was too long to wait, at least in his case.

Viktor squinted at the sterile whiteness of the room. White walls, white sheets, white scrubs. He knew it was supposed to have a calming effect, but all it did was make him feel like he was choking.

White, white, white.

He would soon join the white, if what the doctors were saying was true.

Viktor’s fists trembled, tightening until he could see the pale bone of his knuckles.

He had been ignoring it for years, chalking it up to natural aging and his own forgetful personality. But after he had forgotten his own birthday, forgetting the party his students had told him about weeks in advance …

Well. That had been the breaking point. Yuri had shuffled him to the doctor’s office after that, claiming that Yakov, even at the ripe old age of eighty-two, wouldn’t forget something like that.

And it was good that Yuri had finally forced him in here, as much as Viktor had protested.

A shuffling sound brought Viktor out of his musings. He glanced up and met the concerned face of the doctor, whose body was stiff underneath her crisp white jacket. Her nails scratched against the rough fabric of the coat.

“I’m sorry Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor’s eyes flicked to the brain scan plastered on the side of the wall for viewing. It looked perfectly normal, as far as he could tell, but there in lay the problem.

“I didn’t want to draw your attention to this until we were able to rule out a few other things with this brain scan,” she continued, voice soft and damning and gentle as she delivered the ruthless diagnosis, “but when nothing out of the norm appeared on your scan, I can no longer rule it out as a possibility.”

Viktor’s face crumpled. The brain on the wall looked fine. What the doctor was saying just didn’t make sense. Why was she still talking?

“We’ll have to do further testing to confirm it, of course. With your go ahead, I’ll schedule an appointment for a cerebrospinal fluid tap as well as molecular imaging tests.”

Viktor closed his eyes. The voice of the doctor was beginning to slur together. What was happening? _Cerebro_ what? Tests?

“Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor jolted as a hand rested on his shoulders. The doctor was in front of him now, staring down at him with concern. Viktor wondered how often she had to act like this around patients. Was it so common place that she had become desensitized to it?

“I know this is going to be hard for you, but there is some hope. If we can diagnose this in its early stage, your prognosis will be much better than average.”

Viktor’s lip trembled. He clutched at the crinkly white paper on the bench, digging little holes into the paper as it shifted between his nails.

“How – how long?” he whispered.

She met his gaze and cleared her throat. She released Viktor’s shoulders and took a step back.

“Early onset Alzheimer’s is a bit tricky to predict, but on average, most patients have been able to live about eight years with proper treatment after diagnosis.”

Viktor’s eyebrows scrunched together, uncomprehending. “Wh – what?”

“I’m very sorry Mr. Nikiforov,” she murmured, repeating the useless platitude. Viktor started at her blankly.

Her expression tensed with sympathy. She began speaking as she turned around, extracting a few papers from the bottom of her clipboard. She turned around and held them out to Viktor.

“Here are a few informational brochures on the disease as well as treatment options.”

Viktor didn’t bother lifting his hand, too fixated on the smiling old faces on the front, blissful and so ironically opposite to the death sentence portrayed within.

The doctor cleared her throat when Viktor made no grab for it, and after a couple of seconds, placed them in a neat pile next to the shredded mess of the paper.

“I’ll give you some time to let this all sink in. When I come back we can start discussing treatment options.”

Viktor didn’t watch her leave, staring blankly ahead. As she closed the door, the sudden silence felt like a choking vacuum. Viktor’s breathing started to pick up. His eyes darted around the confining room, desperate to look at anything other than white, white, white.

He clasped at the brochures. They weren’t exactly much better, but they were at least preferable to sitting here with only his thoughts as a distraction. He flicked through them quickly, not letting himself fixate too long on all the alarming words peppered throughout each brochure. He nearly threw them back down before something caught his eye under a bolded section titled ‘Experimental Treatments’.

His eyes lingered on a name: TCKR systems.

Those four letters … he had seen it somewhere. He released a huff of frustration as he racked his memories, coming up blank.

Was this what it was going to be like now? Would he be constantly double checking himself every time he forgot something?

With that depressing thought lingering in his mind, he started to read. The company, TCKR systems, claimed to be working towards creating an artificial reality that people could visit through technological means. It was in its first clinical trials for humans. As of now, they only accepted people diagnosed with early stages of dementia as test subjects.

Viktor perked up as he continued to read, interest piqued.  It claimed that the initial tests were encouraging. Apparently, the patients had reported eased symptoms after just five minutes in the artificial world. Viktor’s eyes widened as faint memories from five years ago trickled in.

That’s right; he remembered hearing about this! It was just before Yuri’s fifth grand prix gold, the night when Viktor had forgotten his passport, of all things. The memory turned sour as he considered the implications.

Was that the first sign of his illness? Or had it started earlier? Viktor had always been a bit forgetful by nature, but how forgetful was too forgetful?

_Just how much longer did he really have?_

Viktor’s eyes flickered to the paragraph about TCKR systems.

There was a contact information at the bottom of the article.

He bit his lip.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled their rapid tapping against the chair’s arm rest. Yakov had been like this all week, grumbling and gripping every step of the way. He claimed that the process went against nature, was an aberration, but above all he was skeptical. He couldn’t imagine why Viktor was willing to risk his remaining years with what seemed like a shot in the dark.

But that was just the thing. Yakov was old now, pushing eighty-five with every passing day. And Viktor? He was just forty-three, and while that may have seemed ancient to his twenty-year-old self, all he could think of now was how young it truly was.

Viktor should have had another thirty, forty years of his life.

Instead he was down to eight, and that was if he was lucky.

He swallowed the bitter welling of resentment down before he allowed himself to speak. Yakov was just trying to do right by him – he needed to remember that.

“I’ve already told you this a thousand times. If there’s something out there that can help with the symptoms, that can … ease the inevitable decline a little, I’m going to try it,” he said in monotone. This practiced phrase, or at least some variation of it, came out easier and easier the more he was forced to say it.

After a week of explaining himself to so many people – his doctor, Yuri, Chris, and now Yakov, it had become rather commonplace.

“I’m not changing my mind on this,” Viktor muttered.

Yakov was silent for a moment before he released a sad chuckle.

“No I suppose you wouldn’t. You’ll never stopped defying me, Vitya. Even now.”

Viktor’s hand tightened into a fist. He knew that statement was supposed to be one of acceptance - humor even, but to Viktor, it sounded too close to a goodbye.

Viktor opened his mouth, ready to reply with a sharp jab when the door to the small room opened. Two men walked in, one carrying in a small white tray.

“Hello, Mr. Nikiforov,” the first man spoke crisply. “My name is Dr. Petersen and this is Dr. Leevy. We’re pleased to have you with us today.” As the other man - Dr. Leevy - came to stand next to Viktor, he couldn’t help but fixate on the objects in the box. 

There were only two: one looked like some sort of … remote. It had only one button at the center. The other object was much smaller – a disk with a suction device on the end.

“I see that you’ve filled out the informational documents and signed the waiver,” Dr. Petersen spoke, flipping through a stack of papers on his clipboard.  “I assume this is your next of kin,” he said, gesturing to Yakov.

Viktor tore his gaze away from the strange objects. He blinked at the doctor, then glanced at Yakov out of the corner of his eye.

Not by blood, no. But by all other purposes, yes.

This man was perhaps the closest thing to family he had.

“Ah, yes. That would be correct,” he spoke quietly.

“Very good, then. We’ll get started.”

The two doctors spent a while explaining the process. Apparently, all they had to do was attach the disk – what they called a cognitive impulse converter – to his temple. Once they activated it through the remote, the unit would then analyze and download his consciousness, and transmit it via signals to the online processing unit that housed the artificial world.

They said it would be instant – easier than falling asleep. From that point on, Viktor would be in the artificial world. They told him that it was still in beta, and as such there were very few residents there, but he could still get a feel of the world. So far, it only consisted of one town – a place that they had dubbed San Junipero.

It was a beach town, they said. Filled with a variety of attractions and places to visit.

They told him he would never lack for anything to do there.

And if that wasn’t enough, they planned to expand the town, not just geographically, but temporally as well. For now, the only time frame they had made was the 80s, but given a few more years and a bit more research, they hoped to recreate every time period possible.

Viktor closed his eyes as they placed the cognitive impulse converter on his temple. They instructed him to think of nothing, to clear his mind. The last thing Viktor sensed was the white, white, white of the room, the concerned gaze of Yakov, and the fluttering feeling of nervousness, deep in the pit of his stomach.

 

When Viktor awoke, it was again to whiteness, however this time there was something different – a bit of an indescribable warmth.

He gasped and blinked rapidly, taking a few moments to adjust to his new surroundings.

Everything … everything felt so real.

He clenched his hands experimentally; took in a large gulp of air; flexed his once aching muscles in his back.

Nothing hurt anymore. His body felt like it used to, back when he was spry and young and agile.

_And his mind._

His mind felt free, whole once again. The fog that had been dampening it, a fog that he hadn’t even realized was present, had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt so free, like he could solve the most complex math problems if given the chance.

He felt like he could take on the world and then some.

He took a moment to look around. He was at the end of a street, however only a few cars lined the road; it was achingly bare, except for the few people Viktor could make out in the distance.

They had said there would hardly be anyone here, given that the system was in beta, but it was still a little odd. Viktor started walking, delighted to find all sorts of shops and businesses along the way. There definitely was an eighties vibe here, if the flashing neon lights and dated fashion were any indication, but despite this it held a certain charm

To his right, he could make out the sounds of a beach, and if he listened hard enough, the distant call of seagulls.

He exhaled a long puff of air.

It already felt like home.

He began walking, eager to talk to the people he could make out near a large neon sign. As he came closer, the lettering on the sign became clear.

Neon palm trees fanned the central text which read _Tucker’s._ As far as Viktor could tell, it looked like a club of some sort. As he neared the group of people huddled outside, they turned.

A woman and a man greeted him. They were decked out in the fashion of the era - puffed jacket shoulders, bright neon colors, and frizzy hair. The man waved to him jovially.

“I haven’t seen you around here before! This your first time?”

Viktor stilled.

“Ah, yes.” He awkwardly lifted a hand and waved back. “Yes, it is.”

The man stepped forward and offered his hand. Viktor took it, a little startled by the man’s energy. “Fantastic! My name is Howard. This is Nell,” he enthused, gesturing to the woman to his right. “We’ve been here since the start. We’re actually some of the only full timers right now. We stay here most days to greet visitors.”

Howard released his hand and grinned widely at Viktor. With the bright neon of his outfit, the smile seemed magnified tenfold. Viktor couldn’t help but perk up a little just by being in the man’s presence.

“We can show you around if you want – tell you all you need to know. So what’s your name then?”

He cleared his throat. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Nikiforov?” Nell spoke up, head titled in recognition. “I think I recognize that from somewhere ... ”

“Well,” Viktor began, eager to talk of his earlier days, “you may remember me from figure skating. I was one of the best just a few years back.”

And wasn’t it strange to refer to his career that way? It had long since passed but in his memories, he could remember it like it was yesterday.

Nell’s eyes cleared. A quick smile flashed across her face as she snapped her fingers. “That’s right! You’re Viktor! My daughter was the biggest fan of yours.”

Viktor smiled, always pleased to hear of a fan. Nell’s smile dropped as a thought came to her. “But what are you doing here? Surely you’re not that old yet?”

“But it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Howard interjected, sparkle gone from his eyes. He looked at Viktor, eyes intent.

“It’s a curious thing – the effect this place has on you. All the confusion and all the weight that clouded your mind simply lifts the moment you enter. When you’re out there,” he murmured, gesturing upwards to the sky, “you grow used to that endless weight. But once you return here, to San Junipero, you realize just how distorted your reality was.”

Viktor shivered. What Howard described hit a bit too close to home. Nell’s brow furrowed, a concerned look on her face. She took a step forward and delicately squeezed Viktor’s shoulder.

“It’s alright dear, it’s alright. You’ll find soon enough that this place will be your salvation in the next few years. We’ll always be here to welcome you back, and in time, if you find this place enjoyable, you can elect to stay here …” she trailed off.  “When it’s your time, of course.”

Viktor gave her a grateful look. Despite just having met the two of them, Viktor felt very comfortable in their presence.  They were young – at least their appearance portrayed them that way, yet Viktor got the most intense sense of comfort from them.

“And it’s not a trap, Viktor,” Howard interjected, “if you want to leave at any point, all you have to do is imagine yourself with the remote and it will appear in your hands.” He squinted his eyes for a moment and held up his arm in example.

“Look, just like that,” he insisted, holding up the same remote that took Viktor into this world. Viktor eyed it. Was it really all that simple? Something this good had to have some sort of catch, right?

Nell squeezed his shoulder again. “Come on, dear. We’ll show you around the place. You don’t have much time here, right?”

Viktor nodded. “They told me I only have a few hours here once a week.”

Howard clasped his other shoulder.

“Well let’s make the most of it, then. We’ll give you the big San Juniperian welcome.”

They tugged Viktor along, and being sandwiched between the two of them eased some of his earlier reservations. It really was lovely here. From the soothing beach, to the vibrant town - which Howard and Nell promised would become livelier as more permanent residents came to stay – it certainly had a lot to offer.

Viktor was rather astounded when they explained that he could have anything he wanted here. All he had to do was imagine it. He could have the most extravagant house he wanted, the most stylish clothes. The only limit was his imagination.

The only thing this place couldn’t produce was other people. That was too complicated for the computer algorithms to replicate, they said. It could never truly capture all the nuances and complexities of a living being.

After what felt like a brief time, Viktor realized his time was coming to a close. He smiled at his two hosts and held out his hand, but Nell swatted it away, smothering him with a hug. Howard joined the hug too, squeezing the air out of him a bit.

It was rather ironic, given the artificial world he was currently in, but it had to be the realest and most alive he had felt in years.

And with a flash of white, he was gone.

 

 

Viktor awoke, blinking his eyes as he adjusted to the weak light. He groaned. Now that he had gotten a chance to clear his mind in San Junipero, it made it all the more apparent how much he was struggling in his real body.

His mind felt so heavy, so muddled.

He unstuck his head from the back of the chair. Yakov sat in the corner – it looked like he had dozed off himself. The two doctors surrounded him, though, curious and expectant looks on their faces.

One clicked a pen and placed it on his clipboard as he locked eyes with Viktor.

“So, how did it go? What did you experience? We’d like a detailed account if possible.”

Viktor blinked a few times, trying to drudge up the memories.  It was so much more difficult to think, now that he had the perspective of a clear mind. He spent the next few minutes recounting as much as he could. After the doctors ran out of questions they left the room, promising Viktor another chance to enter San Junipero the same time next week.

Only once a week would he be lucid, coherent; entirely himself.

Just four hours of reality, and then a week of confusion, pain, and frustration.

It wasn’t enough, but it had to be. Viktor didn’t have any other options at this point.

Viktor was forty-three.

He was losing his mind.

And this was the beginning of the end.

 

***

 

Viktor stared out the window blankly, watching as a flock of birds flew into the horizon. It had been nearly a year since the first foray into San Junipero. He had visited the reality the same time each week like clockwork.

He would never forget to go there – it was the one thing in his week that he avidly looked forward to.

Things had taken a sharp turn as of late. He found it hard to communicate at times, stumbling and stuttering over his phrases when he was once so coherent and articulate. Mood swings would arrive out of nowhere sometimes, seemingly triggered by the most benign of things. But worst of all, he could practically feel his memories slipping away. Each day denoted the loss of a past memory he couldn’t remember.

It was so maddening. Just the other day when Yuri visited, he had momentarily forgotten that he had once coached the boy.

That had resulted in anger and frustration all around: Yuri, because seeing proof of Viktor’s decline no longer allowed him to deny it, and Viktor because he was so, so tired of forgetting.

That’s all he seemed to be doing now.

But not when he went into San Junipero. No. When he was there he could remember everything about his life. As much as he loved Yakov and Yuri and all the others, as the days passed and more of himself left, this existence was becoming less real while San Junipero slowly became his new reality.

However, Viktor wasn’t so far gone yet that he couldn’t see the outcome of this pattern.

That was why he had to get his thoughts out now, before they flew to the wayside like so many things before.

As the last edge of the birds disappeared beyond the horizon, he turned away from the window and addressed the person nearby.

“Yakov,” Viktor began slowly, taking care to enunciate as best as he could. Yuri had told him that his speech had started to slur as of late. “Yakov I need you to sign that,” he demanded quietly. When Yakov made no move to lift the pen Viktor tried again. “Please … please just do this last thing for me.”

Yakov released a puff of air. He set the clipboard down in his lap and eyed Viktor. A flash of memory danced across his mind at that look, fleeting and sporadic like the flash of a lightning bug on a summer’s night, but it left its message all the same.

Viktor had seen this look many times before, most often associated with the skating he so loved in his younger years. It was the lecture look, and if Viktor remembered correctly (and this was a big ‘if’ as of late), then he was about to be put through the ringer.

“Vitya, I’m not going to sign this – I can’t.”

Viktor sighed. They had been back and forth on this for a month now. Only through proper wheedling and doctor advice had Viktor managed to get this far. He settled in, preparing himself to rehash all of his earlier arguments.

“With the way things are … progressing, there’s going to be a time soon when – when I can no longer communicate,” he said slowly, having to think hard to get the words out properly. “Given enough time, I won’t even be able to understand what people are saying, where I am, or even who you are.” He bit his lip as he stared at Yakov, trembling a little with emotion.

“I don’t want to put you or Yuri through that, not when there’s a much better option.”

Yakov grit his teeth. Viktor was startled when he noticed the beginnings of tears in his eyes. In his entire life, he couldn’t recall a time when the man had cried.

“A better option than killing you?”

Viktor wilted. That was where they were at a standstill. Regardless, Viktor plowed on, eager to make his thoughts heard.

“It won’t really be killing me, though, will it? Not really.” He leaned forward and clasped the man’s knee. “Yakov … at some point, even if I’m still technically alive, I won’t really be here anymore.”

The doctors had gone over this with him. They explained the deterioration process, how little bundles of proteins – beta-amyloid plaques, they called them - had already started filling up in his brain, how the white matter in all structures would begin rapidly atrophying. It terrified Viktor to think of it, even though he knew the process had already started.

It made him paranoid; he was convinced each morning that he could tell a difference.

“I don’t want to be a burden, especially when I’m practically dead at that point. I’m not asking you to pull the plug now … all I’m asking … all I’m asking is to not be left to die in misery,” he continued. He squeezed Yakov’s knee and leaned forward. “Please, _coach_. This is my last and final request from you.”

Yakov closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Viktor waited, not saying a word. When Yakov opened his eyes, he looked rather resigned, but when he met Viktor’s eyes, he gave him a sad smile.

“This is the last time you’ll refuse my orders, then?”

Viktor laughed, giving Yakov a watery smile to match his own. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure I’ll find a way even after I’m gone.”

Yakov chuckled along with him, and as he picked up the pen to sign the assisted suicide forms, he had never felt more grateful to the man in front of him in his life.

Viktor bit his lip. He would miss him.

But … but maybe he didn’t have to.

“Yakov …”

“Hmm?” he questioned, not looking up from the form as he continued to sign.

“Why don’t you visit San Junipero? Try it out, at least. When I’m officially … gone, you can come visit me,” he said tentatively.

Yakov set the clipboard down in his lap. His mouth was downturned into a scowl.

“Vitya, you know my thoughts. When I’m gone, I’m gone. I’m not trusting myself to some new age trap that some random technology group has concocted. It’s fine if you want to do it yourself, but I’m not having any part of it.”

He set the clipboard off to the side. Viktor opened his mouth, ready to retaliate, when a doctor shuffled in carrying the cognitive impulse converter and the remote. Even though he wasn’t satisfied with Yakov’s answer, the site of the remote never failed to perk him up.

It was time to go back to his new home. Yakov stood up abruptly and nodded at Viktor. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Same time as usual.”

Viktor watched leave. As he shut the door, he turned to the doctor. “He finally agreed to the procedure.”

She perked up as she attached the device to his head. “Oh, really? I’m surprised; we all thought he’d never crack.”

Viktor smiled without warmth, the reality of the signed forms just now registering. “How … how much longer would you say I have?”

Her fingers stilled on his temple. She took a step back and held out the remote to him. He clasped it and held it to his chest.

“It’s hard to say …”

He frowned. He was so tired of the vague answers doctors liked to give. She bit her lip as she gauged his expression.

“But given your current rate of … deterioration, I’d estimate maybe a year.”

Maybe a year.

_A year._

Viktor’s mouth parted. He nodded at her in thanks and closed his eyes, eager to escape to his preferred reality. Things were becoming a bit too much out here. He pressed the button of the remote, and as the white filtered in, he found himself easing over into the horizon, fading out slowly like the birds over the edge of the horizon.

 

***

 

The days seemed to blur together now. The week in between his visits to San Junipero were an endless stretch of confusion and white noise. Very little made sense. It was only when he was back in the artificial reality was he able to reset.

During his visits to San Junipero, his mental capacities were returned to him. He could recall sporadic memories from the past week, times when he had interacted with others. The doctors said it was normal – expected even – to have moments of clarity during the later stages of dementia. However, these were few and far between, and as the weeks passed in an unending haze of frustration and fear, Viktor knew he was getting closer and closer to the end.

He had found a home here, made friends as more people started visiting and becoming permanent residents. He had become a regular at Tucker’s and had already started creating his new forever home. He had even created an ice rink – he found so much joy in the familiar _shick_ of the ice under his skate, a sound he hadn’t experienced firsthand in decades.

He was happy here.

And he knew he was ready to go.

The moment came rather suddenly. One night Viktor was walking along the beach with Nell, regaling her with some of his favorite ice skating memories, when it happened.

Nell had mentioned the late hour and had bid Viktor goodnight. When Viktor checked his watch as he watched her walk away, it took him several moments to process everything.

12:03 am

Viktor always left at precisely 12:00 am. No matter what he did to try and stop it, as soon as the digital clock switched over, he would immediately return to his body.

But this time …

This time it hadn’t happened, which only meant one thing.

Viktor was here for good now; he was finally a permanent resident.

He had placed his face in his hands, too overcome with all the conflicting emotions coursing through him. On the one hand, he was dead – never to return to his real life and his friends. On the other hand, though … he was finally free.

Free from the confusion, the fear, the absolute misery of it all.

It was a simultaneously harrowing and lovely moment.

And as the seagulls chirped happily in the night sky, Viktor inhaled slowly, and for the first time since his diagnosis, he finally let himself breathe.

 

***

 

Viktor strutted into Tucker’s and ripped off his shades for effect. They were completely unnecessary, given the late hour, but Viktor had always been a bit _dramatic_ and not even the afterlife would keep him from being so.

Saturday and Sunday were always big nights in San Junipero. The majority of non-permanent residents – or visitors, as they liked to call them – elected to stop by during these days. Everyone here liked to give them a big welcome each weekend. As such, Tucker’s was in full swing.

“Hey Viktor! Over here, hey!”

Viktor turned and smiled, waving to a group of his friends by the bar. When he approached, they patted him on the back and shoved a drink into his hand, demanding that he catch them up on his life.

Everyone he had met so far had been great, yet there was still a small part of him that wished for something else. Viktor figured it had to do with the generational differences. He was the exception here – transferred at forty-five when everyone else had been in the eighties or nineties. He knew in time that more people his own age would start to come, but that didn’t mean Viktor wouldn’t be a little disgruntled about it until it happened.

“So Viktor…” Maria trailed off suggestively. Viktor hid a groan into his beer. He had come to recognized and dread that particular tone. As great as Maria was, she had this thing about Viktor’s love life, almost like a concerned and probing grandmother, which, given the fact that she had fifteen grandchildren in real life, was probably an accurate assessment.

“Looks like the visitors are here for the night,” she continued, gesturing to a cluster of wide eyed individuals near the entrance. “Why don’t you go greet them?”

Viktor spared the group a glance, flitting between each face with a detached interest. He had never had much luck with romance in his real life, not since that fateful night. Maybe a part of himself felt he didn’t deserve it after that, or maybe Yuuri had just ruined him for everyone else. Regardless, Viktor was a little jaded when it came to romantic endeavors beyond the meaninglessness of a one night stand.

Why would that be any different now?

He exhaled slowly and almost turned away from the group, when something caught his eye.

Those glasses … rectangular and blue framed and so achingly familiar.

Why did he get such a strange feeling from them?

Viktor frowned, and after a moment it came to him. He froze, flashes of memories twirling through his mind; A dance, a reawakening, a rebirth.

If Viktor was right, the person those glasses belonged to wasn’t just some run of the mill visitor.

Maria perked up as she noticed his silence. “See someone you like?”

His heart started thrumming against his chest. Adrenaline, energy, and life coursed through him like electricity. Ignoring the questions of his friends, he took a few steps closer. As the crowd parted fully, Viktor knew it was him with startling clarity.

Viktor Nikiforov was dead and deceased by all rights.

Yuuri Katsuki was across the dance floor.

And for the first time in years, he had never felt more alive.

 

***

 


	2. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my friend who is currently battling it out in the hospital as he recovers from his own TBI (tramatic brain injury) after getting struck by a car.
> 
> Keep on fighting the good fight, buddy. I'm keeping you in my thoughts. <3

 

It’s a funny thing, when you emerge from sleep. For a short span of time, you exist in the divide – not quite awake, yet not quite in the world of the living either.

That state of being is its own liminal space, sitting on the cusp of reality, but just far enough removed to lose oneself in its vastness.

For Yuuri, it lasted just milliseconds, but even that was enough to leave a lasting impression.

When he came to, blearily crossing the threshold into a white room, white sheets, white coats and white walls, he realized quite quickly that he would gladly take those seconds back; he’d live in them for the rest of his life if he could.

Because this … this was no way to live.

 

***

 

Yuuri flinched as a bright light pierced his eye.

Well, he tried to flinch at least. His physical reaction was another story.

“His pupils are responding,” a crisp voice spoke, followed by the sound of pen scribbling on paper.

Yuuri roved his eyes around the room, blinking rapidly as he searched for the sound. Slowly, as if someone was turning up the brightness level on a television, everything started to come into focus, the blurriness on his peripheral vision fading into nonexistence.

He was laid out in hospital bed, an assortment of tubes and needles attached to his body. With shock, he realized one tube jutted out from his throat. As he watched his chest expand and fall without his doing, a horrible realization came to him.

His arms rested by his side above the hospital issued blanket. He tried to flex his fingers.

Nothing happened.

Yuuri’s heart rate began picking up, a quick beeping noise accompanying its fluttering pace. He tried to move anything – anything at all, and yet –

He couldn’t.

No matter how hard he tried.

“Eye movement as well,” the same voice spoke.

Momentarily distracted from his panic, Yuuri turned his eyes to the right. A doctor stood there, clipboard in hand, her crisp, white coat stark against her dark skin.

She looked up from the clipboard and met his gaze.

“Mr. Katsuki?” she questioned while leaning forward, “Can you hear me?”

 _Yes! Yes I can hear you!_ he wanted to shout, scream, rave as loud as he could, but it was like his thoughts were stuck in his brain with no outlet, forever doomed to remain trapped without the translation of the spoken word.

His eyes roved her face. Her lips pursed as she studied him.

“If you can hear me Mr. Katsuki, please, look to your right.”

Yuuri blinked a few times before complying, eyes straining as he looked as far right as he could. He had to make sure she understood.

“Oh, very good, Mr. Katsuki. That’s excellent, thank you.”

Yuuri returned his gaze to the doctor who smiled at him widely, eyes alight. She turned to her side and addressed a couple of nurses who lingered near the door.

“Please order a MRI and angiogram for Mr. Katsuki now that he’s regained consciousness,” she said swiftly before addressing Yuuri once more.

“I’m glad to see you’re with us,” she continued, pulling up a chair and settling next to his bed. The door of the room closed as the nurses left, leaving Yuuri and the doctor in silence save for the drip, drip, drip of the IV and the muted beeping of the heart monitor.

“I don’t know how much you remember, Mr. Katsuki, but before we go down that road I’ll start with the basics: You’re in John’s Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, United States. My name is Doctor Vanya Gupta and I’m the primary doctor in charge of your rehabilitation.” Her voice turned soft and she hesitated, speaking in a muted tone. “Just three months ago, you sustained a traumatic brain injury when you were struck by a car after your figure skating banquet.”

Yuuri’s eyes faltered as her gaze turned sympathetic. He couldn’t stand to look at her right now, not when the reality of all of this was so horrifying.

He racked his brains as he tried to remember anything, _anything at all_ , but it was like sifting through an endless fog. He remembered going to the banquet and feeling particularly depressed and cripplingly awkward all by himself, which is why he went to the bar … Everything after that was a blur.

Sharp, fleeting memories pricked across his thoughts, each more confusing and abstract than the last.

He wrenched his thoughts away from that path. It was too confusing to ponder right now.

A hand pressed into his right arm. Despite not being able to respond in any way, the pressure was comforting in its own right.

“You’ve been in a comatose state for the past three months, Mr. Katsuki. This is the first time we’ve had you conscious for more than a few seconds.”

Yuuri fixated on her hand as she spoke, eyeing her short, neat nails.

Just what had happened to his brain? And where was his family?

“You were transferred to John’s Hopkins by the request of your parents and doctors once you were stable. Your parents returned to Japan to keep the business afloat, but your sister Mari is here in Baltimore with you. I’ll be contacting her shortly to let her know you’ve awoken.”

Yuuri blinked rapidly in response. This couldn’t be real.

_There was no way that this was real._

Dr. Gupta paused as she let him digest everything. After a few moments, she inhaled slowly, speaking with a quiet voice.

“Mr. Katsuki, please look at me.”

If Yuuri could move right now, he’d be slamming his hands against his face, moaning and raving against the injustice of it all, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

All he could do was blink in frustration at the hand clasped against his forearm.

Dr. Gupta released a sharp sigh before she spoke again.

“We have one of the best neuro teams in the world here, Mr. Katsuki, and we’re prepared to do all that we can to help you recover. You’re already showing significant signs of improvement. This isn’t the end, I assure you.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. It certainly felt like the end.

The hand clasping his arm increased in pressure for a second before it released his arm. From his periphery, he could tell that Dr. Gupta was standing now.

“I’ll give you some time to process all of this, Mr. Katsuki. I know it must be a lot to take in.”

_Ha._

That was the understatement of the century.

She breezed out of the room after a few seconds, leaving the door ajar. Yuuri desperately wished she’d come back – anything to distract himself from this horrifying reality and the raging thoughts that stated swirling in his brain like a maelstrom.

Yuuri Katsuki was 23 years old.

He was trapped in an endless nightmare.

And his life, by all intents and purposes, was over.

 

***

 

The days seemed to blur by, days crawling into nights into mornings into endless monotony. Yuuri tried his hardest to improve, flexing imaginary muscles he no longer controlled when asked to do so, blinking and moving his eyes in response to questions, allowing the nurses and physical therapists to poke and prod and exercise his body.

If Yuuri was shy about his appearance before all of this, he could rightly say he was shameless at this point. In just a week, dozens of people had accessed his most intimate parts all while he was completely conscious.

He was a bit desensitized to it all now.

“Yuuri.”

His eyes snapped to Mari who sat just to the right side of the bed. She held up a clear, plastic board decorated with letters; the middle part was cut out, leaving a window for her face to look through. Her eyes narrowed in consternation as she assessed him.

“C’mon Yuuri. We just have to keep practicing. It’ll get easier the more we do it – just like the doctor said.”

Yuuri was still paralyzed. He couldn’t do anything other than blink and move his eyes, but despite this, some of the frustration he was feeling was amazingly picked up by Mari. When he made no move to try and cooperate, she sighed and set the board in her lap.

“I know you’re not exactly a person of a lot of words, little bro, but you do realize you’ll have to talk eventually, right?”

Yuuri glanced away quickly, not wanting to see any more of her defeated expression. It was simple enough, really. All he had to do was look at one of the letters on the clear board, and whoever was holding it could identify the letter based on the direction of his gaze. It was a rudimentary way to communicate, but a way nonetheless.

The only problem was Yuuri.

He was just feeling _so much_ right now. Normally when he was feeling this overwhelmed, he could recuperate by himself for a bit, or at the very least exercise and work through some of his emotions.

But the way he was now … he couldn’t do any of that. He couldn’t even scream into his pillow about the injustice of it all. Instead, his thoughts remained trapped, warring within himself like a storm brewing just on the horizon.

He had no outlet for all of his thoughts, all of his anguish.

As such, he really didn’t even know what he could say to Mari. It’s not like he could ask her how she was doing. Besides, Yuuri already knew the answer to that. The dark bags under her eyes and weary expression spoke volumes.

Additionally, anything that he really felt like saying would be too depressing and self-deprecating, and Mari, _dear Mari_ , who had disrupted her life to live in Baltimore while he recovered … she didn’t deserve that.

Yes.

It was better if he kept his morose thoughts to himself.

And he had plenty to go around, all right. How could he not, when it was confirmed through the brain scan and angiogram that he had a rare brain condition as a result of the accident? Dr. Gupta had explained that Yuuri was in what they called _locked in syndrome_ , resulting from damage to a structure on the brainstem called the pons.

He was perfectly conscious and had all his mental capacities, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe without assistance.

He was literally locked in his head, and for someone who experienced the anxiety that he did, this was such a frightening thought that it would trigger a complete mental shut down if he lingered on it too much.

It was silent for several seconds as Yuuri refused to look at her. Tendrils of guilt started curling deep in his chest. He knew he was being needlessly difficult with her, but it was a right sight better than dealing with the alternative.

She sighed as she stood up, then crossed the room and fiddled with the television mounted to the wall in front of his bed.

“I think there might be something that’ll cheer you up. Let’s see if they have the channel here …” she murmured quietly, more to herself than Yuuri.

He glanced up despite himself, and when she let out a cheer of satisfaction and stepped back from the screen, his heart plummeted and somersaulted and froze all at once.

Because there on the screen was none other than Viktor Nikiforov. He was still radiant and lovely beyond comprehension, but Yuuri couldn’t help but think that the television didn’t really do him justice, and rightly so, because there was no way that a grainy screen could truly capture all the complexity and subtle nuances that made up his appearance.

Like the way his eyes crinkled just on the edges when he smiled, or the way his laugh bounced happily around the room, transmitting his own radiance to anyone lucky enough to be nearby, or how his smile just –

“There we go. We can always count on good old Viktor, can’t we?” Mari drawled, flopping into the chair. Yuuri could hear the smile in her voice, but he couldn’t pay her any mind just now, not when he was seeing _him_ for the first time in what felt like ages.

Viktor was at the edge of the rink, head bowed as his coach, Yakov Feltsman, said something that the cameras didn’t pick up. Whatever he was saying, though, the conversation appeared to be pretty intense.

Yakov patted Viktor on the back before stepping aside, and when Viktor straightened his back, Yuuri felt his mind flinch when the camera zoomed in on his expression.

Yuuri had never seen him this … this sad, for lack of a better term.

His skin seemed a little pallid for one, and his lips were uncharacteristically downturned, but what really shocked Yuuri the most were his eyes.

The usual sparkle was long gone, replaced by what could be none other than a deep-seated despair. Yuuri knew Viktor liked to get into character before some of his more expressive performances, but he had never seen it at this level, which was saying something, because Yuuri had seen every single one of his performances multiple times over.

This look was on a whole other level, far too real to be an act.

“Nikiforov really knows how to change things up, doesn’t he Denice?” An announcer asked, voice tinged with amusement.

“He’s got surprising the audience down to an art form, Damion. I can’t wait to see what kind of performance follows this. He’s certainly building the suspense here.”

A flicker of indignation flashed through Yuuri. The announcers thought Viktor was just putting on a show. Couldn’t they tell he was in pain? That his expression was much to genuine to be faked?

There was something seriously wrong with him – that much was clear to Yuuri. And for them to just play it off as some sort of publicity stunt? It was completely demeaning and undermining to Viktor, and it really rubbed Yuuri the wrong way.

“And on top of that, he goes and changes his theme just months before Worlds! This will be the first time we get a peak of his new programs, both short and free. His new theme is ‘The Infinite’. Quite a big change for him, but nothing we haven’t come to love and expect from Viktor. What are your thoughts on his theme, Denise? What do you think it could be expressing?

“That’s an interesting topic, Damion, and one that his fans have certainly debated for the past few weeks. The prevailing theory right now …”

The sounds of the commentators faded from his mind as Viktor took to the ice. He no longer wore the ornate, pink jacket from the Grand Prix. What he was wearing now was much more understated. His outfit was almost entirely all black, save for the soft colors of pink and blue that danced across the jacket in sporadic swoops, occasionally merging together to create a flash of purple as he turned.

As Viktor slowed and set up his starting pose, his gaze seemed to pierce beyond the audience, beyond the camera. He was looking at something else entirely, eyes already lost in a tumultuous storm only he was privy to.

The music started and a single, mournful violin echoed his flowing movements. Viktor’s expression was everything – somehow telling the sorrowful story of a man who was lost in the deluge of society, how he was so forgotten and so alone. His skating was as precise as ever, nailing every single jump and sequence he encountered, but this time there seemed to be a little something _more_ about his performance.

Yuuri was entranced.

Suddenly, the tempo of the song picked up, and the melody turned jaunty and upbeat. Other violins joined, each playing their own melody but occasionally meeting as their notes lined up creating melodious chords. The tone of the performance had completely changed at this point. Now it was full of life and vivacity, and Viktor’s face reflected that.

He had the most tender expression. With his shining eyes and flushed face, he looked like an angle. Yuuri’s heart did a little jump.

For a moment, he wasn’t some invalid locked inside his body, completely reliant on the care of others, he wasn’t some backwater failed athlete who would never set foot on the ice again. When he watched Viktor, he felt otherworldly, invincible.

The man dominated the sport for a reason, and watching this performance made it all the more obvious why.

In shock, Yuuri realized Viktor was tearing up as he struck his final pose, arm outstretched to the audience, longing for something that Yuuri would never know. The camera focused on him, and from that angle, it looked like Viktor was reaching through the television and reaching out the viewers.

Like he was reaching out to Yuuri himself …

“Wow,” Mari muttered.

Yuuri jumped internally, a little startled as he was wrenched back to reality. When he glanced over at Mari, she was leaning over, hand outstretched to his face. She wiped her fingers near his eyes, and to his chagrin, Yuuri realized she was wiping away tears.

Yuuri was sure he was turning red, but it was a small price to pay for the performance he just witnessed, and besides, there was no way he would ever deny what it made him feel, even through that stupid letter board.

Anything that allowed him to forget about his situation, if only for just a minute, was worth the world to Yuuri.

Dr. Gupta said there were cases of spontaneous recovery, but Yuuri was a pessimist by nature, and he refused to kid himself; no matter how you looked at it, his situation seemed rather hopeless.

 

Yuuri Katsuki was locked in his body.

Viktor Nikiforov was rewriting the history of figure skating with his most astounding performance to date.

And after watching him once again, Yuuri had never felt more alive despite the constraints that were pulling him down.

 

***

 

His existence passed in an endless blur. Hours melded into days, months, years.

And yet he remained exactly where he was, confined to his hospital room for the majority of the day, visited by volunteers, doctors, and nurses who all tried to make his day better.

It helped, but it was no cure for the underlying problem here.

And Yuuri was going just the slightest bit insane.

“Yuuri, dear. What do you want to watch? I can’t help you if you refuse to communicate with me,” his mother spoke tiredly.

Yuuri sighed internally and looked up. Her face was framed by the clear, plastic spelling board.

He had gotten better at communicating with it, and so had everyone else who used it to talk to him. Still, it was nothing like actually speaking in real time. Conversing through it was a long process because each word had to be spelled out individually.

Yuuri gazed at the first letter. His mother perked up, her own eyes following his line of sight. She and his father were a lot slower at this thing than Mari was, primarily because they could only visit Yuuri on rare occasions. It was hard to get away from the onsen for one, and on top of that, finances were incredibly tight with all of Yuuri’s medical expenses, making the trip over very difficult to budget.

They never spoke of these matters to him, but Yuuri knew it to be true - knew it like the weary look in his father’s eyes, like the stained, old clothing they still wore from years back, like Mari’s tight lips when he once asked when they could visit.

He stopped asking after that.

“V”

His mother looked away from the board and met his eyes expectantly. Yuuri blinked once to confirm that the letter was right. She smiled slightly, turned back to the board, and they proceeded.

“I”

A blink, followed by:

“K”

“T”

“O”

“R”

She smiled as she peered down at him through the window, dimples forming in her cheeks.

“Viktor. You want to watch Viktor, dear?”

Yuuri blinked once to confirm the statement, already eager to see him once again. Viktor had retired years ago – a very dark day for Yuuri indeed, but in recent years he had started a career in coaching.

Currently, he was coaching Yuri Plitseky, the star skater who everyone hailed as the next Viktor. The Grand Prix was in Geneva this year, and if young Plitsesky could clinch a win, he’d be neck and neck with Viktor in terms of gold medals.

It was a decisive year; Yuuri didn’t want to miss any of it.

He mother shuffled over to the television, slightly hunched and much slower than she had been just years ago. Time’s ceaseless march left no one unscathed, it seemed, and not even Viktor Nikiforov, because as the screen focused on Viktor him, it was apparent how much the years had aged him.

He was still beautiful, of course, but his hair seemed a bit thinner, his body was less toned, and a few wrinkles lined his angular face, undoubtedly the mark of a life well spent.

Yuuri’s heart clenched just looking at him.

Even after all these years, Viktor still managed to inspire him like nothing else. He had provided him so much in these long, dark years. He was a beacon of light and hope that drew him into safer waters when the chaos of his thoughts brewed an endless storm in his head.

Seeing him now managed to settle his pervasive feelings of guilt surrounding his family and the burden he was putting on them, even if Viktor wasn’t the one skating anymore.

They flashed between competitors during the preview scenes, giving a brief rundown of each competitor’s theme and season before taking an ad break.

Yuuri zoned out a little as they passed through each ad, glancing over at his mother who started stroking his hair fondly.

“You’ve never stopped loving that man, have you Yuuri?”

Yuuri flushed, feeling like he was suddenly under the microscope as her eyes twinkled knowingly, but despite this, he blinked twice for ‘no’.

It was true. He had never stopped loving Viktor, a constant in his life since the age of ten.

 

That is, until one day when everything changed.

 

***

 

 

Yuuri was screaming.

He was thrashing, raving, completely inconsolable.

But all that came out was silence. Silence, and the electric buzzing of the television and the muted sounds of the announcers.

_Viktor Nikiforov was dead._

He had been struggling with early onset Alzheimer’s, they said, and had opted early on to transfer to the alternate reality that TCKR systems had produced. He wasn’t really gone, they assured the public, just in a different place.

But that didn’t matter to Yuuri.

The light that kept him going was extinguished.

And he was alone.

Oh, so alone.

 

Sometimes silence really was the loudest scream.

 

***

 

Years passed.

There was little other than mindless drudgery and routine.

But it didn’t really make any difference to Yuuri in the long run, not really.

Yuuri lost track of the days. If Dr. Gupta and the others hadn’t informed him of the daily events, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t even be sure how old he was.

According to them he was forty-eight.

He’d been in this state for twenty-five years.

_Twenty-five years._

He had lived more of his life locked in than free.

Sometimes he really felt like death was the best-case scenario here. He found himself desperately hoping that the ventilator pumping air into his lungs would fail, or that the lack of exercise would send him into an early cardiac arrest.

These were morose thoughts, but Yuuri was beyond caring at this point. He had considered asking for assisted suicide, since it was legal in Japan, and _surely_ his case would qualify, but in the end, he just couldn’t do that to his parents.

Not while they were alive, at least.

His parents were aging, struggling to keep the onsen open more and more with every day, which was really the deciding factor in Mari moving back to Hatsetsu.

Yuuri had talked about his desire to end it all with her. She seemed to understand him and his wishes like no one else. She had nodded solemnly and grasped his hand in silence and that had been the end of it. They understood that as soon as his parents were gone, Yuuri wished to depart as well.

She was the only one who knew of his desires and he wanted to keep it that way. Telling anyone else, especially someone like Phichit - who was amazingly still in contact with him due to his own stubbornness and refusal to let Yuuri slip out of his life - was too hard to contemplate, at least not until the very end.

Having this endgame in mind brought a modem of peace for Yuuri – It was much better than living with the uncertainty of the syndrome and the thoughts of staying this way for another forty plus years.

Other things had slightly improved for Yuuri, mostly because they implemented a new eye tracker technology a few years ago. As Yuuri looked at each letter on a screen, the technology would track his gaze and craft words in nearly real time.

It was a much quicker means of communication and made much of his day to day activities a bit easier.

Currently, Dr. Gupta was next to him, but this time Yuuri was eye level with her. The nurses had strapped him to a board as a means of exercise and rehabilitation. It was a daily thing for him, preventing his useless body from atrophying should he ever spontaneously regain the ability to move.

Dr. Gupta had once assured him that in rare cases of locked in syndrome, patients would either spontaneously regain mobility or gradually regain it over time. She told him this years ago, back when he desperately latched on to any scrape of good news.

Now, twenty-five years later without any improvement, he refused to hold on to forgone hopes like that.

Dr. Gupta normally didn’t come to his physical therapy sessions, but today she eyed him with a purpose, having already bustled out the therapists as soon as it concluded.

“Yuuri. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Yuuri’s eyes tracked over to the digital keyboard just to his right.

“What is it?” a digital voice parroted back after a couple seconds delay.

“There’s a new medical technology that was released to the public recently,” she began, eyes alight, “It provides its user complete immersive therapy by transporting their neural consciousness into an artificially generated world. It’s just come out of its beta testing phase and has been approved by the FDA.”

Yuuri’s eyes roved over her face, the only indication of his growing interest. Oh, he knew all about this technology, all right.

Ever since Viktor Nikiforov had chosen to pass on – because Yuuri would never, even in his head, say that he had chosen to die – he had been extremely interested in the new technology.

And who wouldn’t be? A system that provided life after death seemed almost too good to be true.

Dr. Gupta smiled then, eyes softening.

“I think it would be good to give it a try.”

 

***

 

The rush of it all was indescribable.

Sounds, crisp as day, crashed across his mind like a roaring wave tumbling into the sand. Stars dusted the evening sky, twinkling down at him as if in greeting.

Sound and sight.

These were the only senses he hadn’t been deprived of in life, and therefore it was the least shocking discovery to Yuuri.

But what really startled him was the _feel_ of it all.

He hadn’t realized how accustomed he had become to being without a body.

Having his entire body there but not being able to use it was the cruelest joke. He would have rather had amputated limbs than the endless paralysis he endured every day. At least then he would have the visual reminder of his body, taunting him in his inability to use it.

But now, in San Junipero, all those senses came flooding in like the first gasp of air after being submerged for far too long.

Sharp prickles of sand danced across his fingers – _his fingers!_ – Oh, god, he had fingers again!

Something bubbled out of Yuuri’s chest, and before he knew it, his own laughter bubbled out, intermingling with the roaring waves.

He was alive, truly alive.

Despite the fact that he knew this was an artificial reality, it was the realist, most authentic thing he had experienced in twenty-five years.

Yuuri’s laughter grew louder, and as he closed his eyes and luxuriated in the rough sand that scratched his skin, the night sky sparkled above, welcoming him back like an old friend.

 

***

 

Yuuri’s first few steps were unsteady, unsure, but as he was on a beach, the soft sand cushioned him with open arms every time he tumbled.

It was ridiculous, like he was a toddler learning how to walk all over again. He hadn’t realized how second nature walking had been in his life before the accident. He hardly needed to think to walk properly, but now it was an entirely different ball game.

But it was ok, Yuuri figured. It was like relearning something for the second time. His brain knew how to do everything – he just needed to draw those muscle memories back.

Besides, Yuuri was too excited to worry about it too much, really.

He probably looked like a lunatic, laughing manically and stumbling along like a new born foal, but how could he not be, when he was walking on his own for what felt like the first time in an eternity?

It didn’t take too long to get used to walking again, which was good, because by the time he made it to the edge of the beach, the sand had thinned out and was replaced by concrete.

Yuuri peered into a cluster of building just a few blocks off. This was obviously where the city center was located, where all the people were.

Yuuri’s walking slowed until it stopped completely. His eyes lingered on the outline of the bright neon that tinted the edge of the sidewalk. Sporadic noises – shouts and laughter and joviality – all blended together in a light hum. It was a joyful cacophony, a welcoming embrace.

But Yuuri remained rooted to the spot, just outside the edge.

He clenched his hands as he started to tremble.

He hadn’t talked to people – really talked to people – in so long.  He had always been a bit awkward around people he didn’t know, and now that he had been practically invalid for decades? There was no way they wouldn’t pick up on that.

Yuuri might as well have a neon sign above his head proclaiming FREAK.

He scuffed his sneakers against the coarse concrete as he bit his lip. He – he didn’t know if he could do this …

“Hello, dear. Are you new here?”

Yuuri let slip an embarrassing shriek. Standing just a few meters away was a woman decked out in ridiculously puffy, garish clothing.

His eyebrows rose as he lingered over her ensemble. Dr. Vanya had said the simulation took place in the eighties …

A hand clasped his shoulder. Yuuri released another ungodly shriek.

“Well, howdy there stranger! What’s your name? And why are you lingering all the way out here?”

A man had appeared on his other side, wearing the same garishly bright clothing as the woman. Yuuri laughed nervously and extracted himself from the man’s clasp, eyeing the surrounding shadows wearily.

The man didn’t seem deterred by his lack of response or body language, instead, he moved closer and peered at Yuuri inquisitively.

“Normally when we greet first-timers it’s in the city center! Not all the way out here in the shadows.”

As Yuuri sputtered, the woman clasped his arm and began tugging him into town.

“Now, now Howard. Not everyone can be as outgoing as you. Some of us need a little time on our own to process things,” she spoke chidingly, throwing Yuuri a wink.

He smiled weakly.

“Now tell me, dear. What’s your name?”

Even though the city lights and sounds were increasing, Yuuri found his nerves settling just from the woman’s presence. While she appeared quite youthful, she had such a calming, soothing aura – like that of a grandmother.

She probably _was_ one in real life, now that Yuuri thought about it.

“My name’s –” Yuuri faltered, voice cracking a bit. It had been so long since he’d used it to talk …

“It’s ok,” she soothed, “No need to rush it.”

“My … my name’s Yuuri,” he stuttered. His mouth felt like it was full of rocks.

Well, that’s a lovely name!” she enthused, clasping his arm tighter as she tugged him along, “You can call me Nell, and over there’s Howard,” she said, smile crinkling her eyes. “I think you’ll find that you’ll love it here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nodded nervously as he tore his gaze from her, the sounds and lights of the city suddenly upon him. They were in the center of town now, passing by large groups of people. Everyone seemed to be congregated near a large, neon sign that read _Tucker’s_.

Howard clasped his shoulder.

“Now Yuuri, if you ever have any questions, don’t hesitate to find us. We’ve been here the longest of anyone, after all!” he laughed.

They slowed as they reached the entrance to _Tucker’s._ Yuuri screwed up his eyebrows. They were going in there?

He was never a big fan of clubs before his accident – Phichit being the only reason he ever had any exposure – and the few times he found himself there left him lurking in a corner while he desperately counted down the minutes. This was, of course, assuming he hadn’t gotten rip roaringly drunk, which was a whole other story.

Yuuri found his opinions of clubs hadn’t changed in all his years in the hospital.

“Here are all the other first timers, Yuuri,” Howard interjected, pushing him into a crowd of wide eyed strangers. Nell walked over to the door and held it aloft, and almost instantly, the pulsating music magnified five-fold.

“Now have fun, you lot!” Howard called, lightly pushing against the edge of the crowd to direct them inwards.

Yuuri heart pounded against his chest. This was too much all at once! He needed to go back to the beach; it’d be fine, really - he’d just come back another day when he was better prepared to deal with this.

But before he could squirm his way out, the flow of the crowd ushered him into the club. The last thing he saw was Howard’s winking face.

Yuuri inched forward stiffly as the crowd flowed onto the dance floor. The sound of the music was blaring; he could feel it vibrating in his chest. He was surrounded by people, pressing into him and already rocking to the music.

Yuuri squinted as a bright overhead light briefly flashed in his eyes. The crowd parted in front of him as they parted ways to the bar.

 _Dear god_ , he thought morosely, how did people find this fun – ?

Oh.

Oh, no …

_It couldn’t be him._

Yuuri froze. Staring at him across the dance floor was … was –

Viktor Nikiforov waved desperately as he made a bee line in Yuuri’s direction. He trembled where he stood as the literal inspiration of his life barreled toward him. There was no way Viktor was coming to talk to him! It was outrageous to even entertain the idea.

He turned around, and yep – there were at least five people behind him. Viktor was coming to talk to one of them, surely, Yuuri concluded, already turning around as he dashed out of the club.

Yuuri had always known that Viktor Nikiforov had chosen to come here, but he had never even remotely considered that they’d meet. And on the first night too!

Yuuri couldn’t handle this right now.

“Yuuri!” A voice called over the music.

Great. Now he was hearing things too.

He clasped the handle of the door and wrenched it open. He didn’t make it far, though.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, wait!” Someone called, much louder this time.

Yuuri stopped abruptly, back hunched.

The person behind him – because even now Yuuri refused to acknowledge it was Viktor – sighed in relief.

“Thank you.”

Yuuri tensed. There was really no mistaking it. This man was none other than –

“My name’s Viktor ... Viktor Nikiforov?” he spoke hesitantly. “I don’t know if you quite remember me … I mean … it was so long ago,” he muttered.

Despite himself, a loud chuckle escaped at that absurd proclamation. Forget Viktor? His lifelong idol that not only inspired him, but helped him through the most difficult parts of his accident? The idea was completely preposterous, unfathomable!

Against his better will, he spun around.

Viktor’s eyebrows were raised. He looked rather uncertain, which, given Yuuri’s recent expletive of laughter and general flighty behavior was … well, to be expected, to say the least.

“Are you joking right now?” Yuuri sputtered. The ridiculousness of this situation was distracting him just enough from the very alarming fact that he was speaking to _the_ Viktor Nikiforov. “You must be joking …”

Viktor’s expression cleared after a moment’s hesitation. A large smile spread across his face.

“So, you remember, then?”

Yuuri frowned a little. If he meant meeting in the hallway after his disastrous finish at the Grand Prix, then yeah, of course he remembered that. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory. Yuuri had made a fool of himself and Viktor, or so Yuuri had thought, hadn’t even recognized him.

“I remember …” Yuuri confirmed, blushing a little in humiliation. Why did Viktor have to bring that up?

Viktor seemed to take his confirmation enthusiastically, his own cheeks reddening and eyes sparkling. Yuuri stared, transfixed. He had never seen Viktor this happy. It made the television smiles and laughs pale drastically in comparison to the poor substitute he was used to.

His blush deepened, although this time not from embarrassment.

“That’s – that’s great!”

Viktor’s joy was short lived, though, because after just a few seconds the joy drained from his face, replaced with something rather weary and hesitant.

“There’s something important I’ve been wanting to say, Yuuri.”

Now Yuuri found himself even more confused, and a bit terrified to boot. What could he be talking about? Unless … Viktor must have found out about his lifelong obsession with him – that was it! Or he somehow found out that Yuuri learned his entire ‘Stay Close to Me’ routine! Or … !

He struggled to produce a response after a solid ten seconds of silence.

“I – I don’t …”

Viktor sighed and lowered his head towards the concrete, studying his shoes. He, too, seemed to be collecting himself. When he looked up again his expression was pained.

“Walk with me?”

 

***

 

The waves crashed into the beach as high tide reached its peak. The moon was only just a sliver in the sky, yet the glow it emitted was paradoxically bright.

They meandered along a sidewalk that ran parallel to the beach. Yuuri still found himself a bit nervous, but weirdly enough, seeing Viktor just as nervous managed to calm him somewhat.

Yuuri glanced at Viktor out of the corner of his eye. His jaw was clenched and his hands were balled. He was clearly struggling with what he was going to say. It made Yuuri antsy to watch. Finally, after several minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. Yuuri stopped in his tracks and faced him head on.

“Viktor, please. What did you want to tell me?”

Viktor gulped, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Yuuri … I’ve – I’ve been wanting to apologize to you,” he beseeched. “It was completely inexcusable that I left you on your own in that state. I should have kept my eye on you! I should have taken you to your coach at the very least! I should have escorted you to your room! I -” Viktor choked off as he bordered on hysterics.

Yuuri stared at him, wide eyed, mouth agape. This … wasn’t how he envisioned the talk going. And was Viktor referring to his accident? There was nothing else he could be referring to, really, but that just didn’t make any sense.

“Viktor,” he began, voice soft, “What are you saying? You had nothing to do with the … the accident. We didn’t even talk at the banquet … unless …” Yuuri frowned, remembering very vaguely the events of that night. He had gotten so drunk he very well could have interacted with Viktor without remembering …

“Unless you’re saying we did?” he whispered, rather horrified. _Just what had he done to Viktor?_

Viktor gasped lightly. “Yuuri, you told me you remembered!” His bottom lip trembled as his eyes roved Yuuri’s face. He found himself shrinking under his scrutiny.

“Oh no,” he murmured, already imagining the horrors he had inflicted upon him. “Viktor, please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing to you.”

“Embarrassing?” Viktor laughed without amusement. “Yuuri … you’re only talking about the best night of my life here. A little respect would be nice.”

Yuuri’s entire world tipped on its axis.

He swallowed thickly. “The-the best night of your life?” he repeated dumbly.

Viktor smiled sadly, shaking his head.

“Oh, Yuuri …”

He reached forward and clasped Yuuri’s hand.

(He may or may not have let out a tiny squeak.)

“You swept me off my feet that night.”

Yuuri’s heart practically skipped a beat when he saw how heart breakingly tender Viktor’s expression was – aimed at him, of all people!

Viktor’s thumb smoothed across the back of his hand in little motions.

“It all started with a dance off with a young Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuuri groaned, humiliated, but not surprised.

Viktor’s eyes sparkled. “You won, of course. Next you pole danced with Chris, stripped off the majority of your clothing, and then danced with me a few times.

Yuuri wheezed, tugging his hand out of Viktor’s clasp and burying his face in it.

“Is that it? Please tell me that’s it.”

“Not quite.” Viktor’s voice was quiet. “You then demanded I come to your home in Japan and become your personal coach … while grinding against me, I may add.”

Yuuri peered at him through his fingers, aghast. “I did not.” He moaned lowly as he recounted all the people at the banquet. He couldn’t believe he had embarrassed himself in front of such a large group.

Viktor was quick to respond. He grabbed Yuuri’s hand and eased down once more, leaving Yuuri red faced and burning.

“You were a spark of light in a sea of darkness, Yuuri. Your effervesce had woken me up after being submerged for far too long. That night with you was easily the most alive I had ever felt in my entire life …” Viktor tilted his head, considering. His expression turned teasing. “Up until now at least.” He threw Yuuri a wink.

Yuuri felt completely blindsided. First, the revelation of the banquet, and now the very real and obvious fact that the Viktor Nikiforov was flirting with him?

Dr. Vanya had warned that all the sensation rushing back to him would be a bit of a shock. He had a feeling she didn’t account for the Nikiforov factor, though.

“Please don’t be ashamed of what happened that night, if nothing more than for the sake of me. That night changed me in ways you can’t begin to imagine, Yuuri. I carried it with me the rest of my life.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. And that was another thing! To think during all those lonely years that Yuuri had been starting at Viktor through the television, that apparently, inconceivably, Viktor had been doing the same.

Viktor’s smile faded. “Which – which makes what happened after completely inexcusable.”

Yuuri found his voice. This was easy. This he could talk about.

“You mean the accident?”

Viktor exhaled shakily. “Yuuri you can’t begin to imagine how sorry I am. If I had only walked you back …”

Yuuri frowned.

“Viktor. Viktor, stop! None of this is your fault, ok?”

Viktor squeezed his hand, silent. Yuuri could tell he wasn’t quite convinced.

Yuuri sighed. “Did you let me walk into the traffic?”

Viktor flinched. “What? No!”

“Then it’s not your fault,” Yuuri responded urgently, trying to get this through. “It’s my fault, really. I know what I’m like when I drink too much, but I was just so emotional that night I … I needed some sort of distraction.” Yuuri trailed off, realizing he had gotten a bit off topic.

Viktor’s eyes were still sad. Yuuri wanted to wipe that look off his face. Viktor deserved to always be happy – and not the fake happy he had gotten so used to seeing – but genuinely happy, like before.

Yuuri figured there was something he still needed to say to assuage Viktor’s grief.

“Nevertheless,” he squeezed his hand, smile soft, “I forgive you, Viktor.”

Viktor visibly deflated upon his words.

“I – thank you. I really needed to hear that, Yuuri.”

They stood there smiling shyly at each other for a few moments before Viktor visibly brightened. He held out the crook of his arm, eyes sparkling once more.

“Fancy a walk on the beach, then? I’d like to just talk this time, if you don’t mind. As much as I enjoyed our first meeting, I’d really rather prefer we both remember it this time around.”

Yuuri groaned at the reminder, and despite his fluttering heart and lingering embarrassment, he threaded his own arm through Viktor’s as he led them off the sidewalk and into the sand.

 

***

 

“You’re kidding me? You’re telling me that ‘ _Imprisoned’_ was inspired by Yakov not given you enough freedom as a teenager?”

Viktor chuckled alongside him.

“No, it’s true! Of course, I didn’t tell him that until it was too late to change the program. The look on his face was priceless.”

“Viktor …” Yuuri groaned half-heartedly. To think he spent hours analyzing that routine when he was just eleven, eager to find his own inspiration through the rising star who dominated the Junior World’s that year. And to think it was just teenage angst this whole time …

It was laughable.

Yuuri giggled, bringing a hand to his mouth.

“And to think, we all believed you were skating about some otherworldly force, or even just a traumatic event in your life.”

Viktor pouted for show, and when he spoke next, he couldn’t quite hide the smile.

“I was a bit of a diva when I was younger, I’ll admit, but Yakov got used to it. Besides, my themes were nothing compared to Georgi’s.”

Yuuri chuckled again, heart fluttering as Viktor tugged him closer to his body with their crossed arms.

He was quickly discovering that real life Viktor was far different from what he had always envisioned.

Viktor was … actually a bit of a dork. The man wore sunglasses at night, for crying out loud, he thought, eyeing the ridiculous shutter shades tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

Yuuri liked this version of him so much better.

Viktor looked so lovely, framed by the ocean and faint lights from the street, outlining his hair in a halo-like effect.

The urge to be close to him was overwhelming. Yuuri’s finger’s itched until suddenly, he thought to hell with it. The stars were twinkling, the moon was out, and Yuuri was walking for the first time in decades.

He could afford to be a little reckless.

He offered his hand to Viktor.

“Dance with me?”

Viktor’s smile dropped as he froze.

Just when Yuuri thought his question might be met with rejection, Viktor exhaled sharply.

“Yes,” he breathed, gingerly reaching towards Yuuri’s outstretched hand.

They began a slow waltz through the sand, which then transformed into a lazy tango, all the while easing into other styles that came and went like the footprints they left in the sand. This dance was entirely their own – a unique little number that only they knew.

They continued this way for a while, and every time the dance forced their bodies close, Yuuri felt his heart practically skip a beat.

This was all so real, so intense, so … heady.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he had gone so long without the touch of another or just that it was Viktor himself, but something about this night was leaving him breathless.

Yuuri suspected it had more to do with the latter.

Yuuri dipped Viktor low and met his gaze. Viktor’s eyes were wide. The faint blush that had dusted his face all evening deepened as he locked gazes with Yuuri.

He was close he could see the faint sliver of moon that reflected in Viktor’s eyes.

Slowly, they eased out of the dip.

As they righted, Viktor took a deep breath. He grabbed both of Yuuri’s hands in his own.

“There’s something else I want to ask you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Viktor smiled. “Nothing bad this time, I promise!”

Yuuri grinned back. “I’m only good for one life altering revelation a day, you know.”

Viktor chuckled, squeezing Yuuri’s hands lightly. With his soft smile, icy blue eyes, and beach tousled hair, he was impossibly beautiful.

“Yuuri, will you - ?”

 

But Yuuri didn’t get to hear the rest of Viktor’s question, because quite suddenly, everything around him vanished, fading into a world of white.

 

***

 

Quite suddenly, everything was muted.

The roaring of the ocean was long gone, replaced now with the drip, drip, drip of the IV and the faint beeping of the heart monitor. His vision was white. White bed sheets, white walls, white coats.

He could no longer feel Viktor’s hands in his.

In fact, he couldn’t feel anything at all.

Dr. Vanya had said he was limited to four hours a week in San Junipero. As soon as the system logged him at four hours, he would be booted out. She said it was a precautionary measure, meant to prevent addiction and withdrawal from real life.

Yuuri could see why.

He wanted to sob at the lack of sensation now that he had gotten a brief taste of it once more. To have it all taken away again was harder than he thought it would be.

And now, suddenly, there was Viktor.

Had he really danced with him on the beach? It all felt like a dream …

He eyed the clock on the wall.

6 days, 19 hours, and 59 minutes until he could return to San Junipero, until he could see _him_ again. Because the life he had now? This was by no means living, and as far as he was concerned, San Junipero was the most alive he had ever felt.

He couldn’t wait to go back.

He was already counting down the hours.

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! It's been a while, yeah? I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because there's a lot more to come! (Am currently debating whether I should make this a four chapter fic, as I still have a lot planned for it!)
> 
> [Please check out the lovely fanart my friend made of Viktor](https://totallynotanobody.tumblr.com/post/160139889903/viktor-from-katyatons-story-senescence-because). Just look how dumb he is with his shades, haha. Please show them your love and support!
> 
> Lastly, I've made a playlist for this fic, [which you can find the post for here](https://katyaton.tumblr.com/post/164046684527/senescence-the-playlist). I hope you'll check it out! I put a lot of thought into it and am currently OBSESSED with the songs.
> 
> Ta for now!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This first chapter is super angsty but I promise it will be less so in chapter 2.
> 
> You can find me [here](https://katyaton.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I plan on posting updates to this fic under #senescence
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought!


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